I wake up adorned in the raiment of grief
An old coat finishes the ensemble
Patched and threadbare in all of the usual places
The pockets often seem full
with memories and images of the ones I’ve lost
My familiar acquaintance, regret, is usually there too,
avoiding the holes in the fabric time tries to put there
Despite appearances to the contrary,
the coat has been very well made
by all of the tailors no longer here